tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60390280629025800102024-03-05T04:16:56.489-08:00Rhymes with BaconLakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.comBlogger431125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-90946440223655079342023-07-03T17:58:00.000-07:002023-07-03T17:58:05.882-07:00July 2nd - a book of great beauty. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhimz9TP3RO1f14U2jUwz0NCX2l3YfBgfrIYWW4ihjijL3urSKF9ayDwDZSkx5GmkwfHPRl3vLd08qy4fDjTnNSVigiqbc7uyOf-Y7Z9CxvSSlndeQ-d_bDh1j5tDGXUwWqVWiBW2eniEYmcWl_lmCazYHH2yffZkUil9GoqzrNm76eJ2iTArxcv0K3xRLX/s4032/Foster%20book%20Keegan.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhimz9TP3RO1f14U2jUwz0NCX2l3YfBgfrIYWW4ihjijL3urSKF9ayDwDZSkx5GmkwfHPRl3vLd08qy4fDjTnNSVigiqbc7uyOf-Y7Z9CxvSSlndeQ-d_bDh1j5tDGXUwWqVWiBW2eniEYmcWl_lmCazYHH2yffZkUil9GoqzrNm76eJ2iTArxcv0K3xRLX/s320/Foster%20book%20Keegan.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>Just finished listening to and reading <i>Foster</i> by Claire Keegan. (yes, I did both; it's that kind of a story). It is as beautiful a book as you'll ever find. The language, the story, the people; I know them so well, they are not characters to me. This is a novella just published as a stand-alone book. I was handed it by Michael of Books & Letters in Guerneville ( more about that bookstore in another post), who I think is one of the best book-sellers I've met, in terms of his ability to suss out what might interest a reader (that is, me - or you or whoever drops by) and hand them something they might love. I had mentioned I was enthralled with <i>This Is Happiness</i> by Niall Williams; then he moseyed over to a shelf and handed me <i>Foster </i>and I knew it was mine. And yes, it was the perfect book. I am not going to offer spoilers, just an encouragement to check it out. Especially at your local indy bookstore. <br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-85711356089179101042023-07-01T23:27:00.008-07:002023-07-01T23:27:47.566-07:00Putting yourself in the way of beauty<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2yFl6cA0IDt8oxFaOSzuqEYqe7X4_0k51nvzQSjh9H6lCodfgEXf5f_INNmUakEz3s-On8klqZc9LIxwAncnFydJyiJIM1P6l-UMxQneVHM5TeMNp5dW8vDa8HLtyfpJL97D8YCdTKRWkVXETFPP97hRZoCSQcIStDufrT9mAYWN1yseQEzxD62HS3PT/s4032/China%20camp.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2yFl6cA0IDt8oxFaOSzuqEYqe7X4_0k51nvzQSjh9H6lCodfgEXf5f_INNmUakEz3s-On8klqZc9LIxwAncnFydJyiJIM1P6l-UMxQneVHM5TeMNp5dW8vDa8HLtyfpJL97D8YCdTKRWkVXETFPP97hRZoCSQcIStDufrT9mAYWN1yseQEzxD62HS3PT/s320/China%20camp.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><br /> Lately I've been finding myself in need of putting myself in the way of
beauty, per the advice Cheryl Strayed's mom gave her. And so here it
is for today.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-1658296421085666352023-04-09T17:17:00.002-07:002023-04-09T17:18:50.164-07:00Article in Press Democrat -- and an introduction to Adlai the Stevenson Owl.....<p><span style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: georgia; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://www.pressdemocrat.com/article/lifestyle/more-than-meets-the-eye/"> Super nice article</a> by Meg McConahey in the Press Democrat today about Home Turf! She really captured the feel of the book and its context with the campus.</span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">https://www.pressdemocrat.com/article/lifestyle/more-than-meets-the-eye/</span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-59967915201808320032023-04-09T17:05:00.004-07:002023-04-09T17:06:23.137-07:00February, when we welcomed the rain. <p class="MsoNormal">Feb 4 2023 </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> We take the opportunity before too much more rain develops to
fit in a quick walk out at China Camp – it is, after all, practically in our
back yard. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With enough rain gear, it’s
not a bad walk under trees and along streams. It’s not pouring rain, just a
pretty steady drizzle – I mean, in Portland, it wouldn’t even rate a mention. We’re the only car in this particular lot – most folks park
out on North San Pedro Road. But we’re not confident about the weather and want
to have a quick<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>getaway if we get
drenched. <br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzVhaFh5LvhzLH2jgGtHLCURJOvbt6tTDD-7BqjlPHsJsV2jJub-kkmZ_uJXBzxRwqXaxCCXw8vmQZT5wOPHlILyjuJXPCkX2sGmcxgxa2Uyi-tLMhh47y-5nEUXXbTtwJxyXcDcq8DnpXuG-zfVaKZxsaYtaJ1BkVEcxgRKWoEZwCZ1G1dGJFkpiSw/s4032/IMG_6792.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzVhaFh5LvhzLH2jgGtHLCURJOvbt6tTDD-7BqjlPHsJsV2jJub-kkmZ_uJXBzxRwqXaxCCXw8vmQZT5wOPHlILyjuJXPCkX2sGmcxgxa2Uyi-tLMhh47y-5nEUXXbTtwJxyXcDcq8DnpXuG-zfVaKZxsaYtaJ1BkVEcxgRKWoEZwCZ1G1dGJFkpiSw/s320/IMG_6792.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A quick flutter off to the right , a piercing whistled cry,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>white rump just above the tail – a northern
flicker greets us as we tackle the three switchbacks that get us up the low hill,
tree boles swathed in brilliant green mosses – we are moving through a green
universe, dotted with mushrooms, and the tiny white bells of manzanitas and wildflowers,
the magenta red of Indian warrior plants, that as far as I can recall are dormant
all summer, springing forth now with the rains, defiant and beautiful. There's a tinkling soothing sound of rock-bedded little water
falls, little creeks running out to San Pablo Bay.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is an astonishment of greenness, of moist air. Our lungs
gobble it up and we march forward with no purpose but to be walking. A few
joggers and several squads of mountain bikes pass us, everyone moving faster
than us, hoping to avoid the bigger rain drops. The backs of all the bikers are
festooned with strip of mud straight up their back side, from saddle-seat to
mid-back. We relish this rebound of green and mud after the months and years of drought and dust. Bring it on, we think!</p><p class="MsoNormal"> This was in February. March soon became another matter. <br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-1763661655024946622022-12-19T21:00:00.003-08:002022-12-19T21:00:56.801-08:00Books are here! <p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVqUnOdKGaRb3v4Xc4hwQRhNUysGGgN9B5J7koVOWf5b0BF-uts5O8n4N-HvcLNqcHZxbwdSD8szOIwz2FeCcZLLuf64MdC-bfdC160grgtfpZxAV1Qzrlsr5CfhvDUb4bxJ1G50iWHJDaQKdpbExSuMC9ct9qkjb6Kq2QSNXq1HXdKA5Cks1ZL1Q_nA/s4032/HomeTurf2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVqUnOdKGaRb3v4Xc4hwQRhNUysGGgN9B5J7koVOWf5b0BF-uts5O8n4N-HvcLNqcHZxbwdSD8szOIwz2FeCcZLLuf64MdC-bfdC160grgtfpZxAV1Qzrlsr5CfhvDUb4bxJ1G50iWHJDaQKdpbExSuMC9ct9qkjb6Kq2QSNXq1HXdKA5Cks1ZL1Q_nA/w238-h320/HomeTurf2.jpg" width="238" /></a><b><a href="https://a.co/d/j02xgP2"> Home Turf, A Bestiary of Sonoma State</a> <br /></b></p><p style="text-align: left;"><b>Those boxes of books</b> I ordered for readings arrived a whole two
weeks early!
So I thought I'd park myself at Aqus Cafe in Petaluma, 189 H Street (in
The Foundry Wharf), for a few hours, (let's say 3 - 5 p.m.?) on Tuesday
afternoon (Dec 20th) for folks who'd be interested in picking them up
from me. </p><p style="text-align: left;">(I'm also happy to sign books you've already received, if you're so inclined.)<br /></p><p>The cost is the same as online: $15 - and I can take Venmo (@ lakin-khan) or cash.
This is really a nice little book for those who enjoy birds, creatures, walks in nature - or who have some connection to Sonoma State University - or any campus, really. It's the perfect size, if I do say so myself, for the <span class="ILfuVd" lang="en"><span class="hgKElc">Icelandic </span></span><span class="ILfuVd" lang="en"><span class="hgKElc">(also Finnish and other Scandihoovian) </span></span><span class="ILfuVd" lang="en"><span class="hgKElc">tradition of Jolabokaflod (The Christmas Book Flood): </span></span><span class="ILfuVd" lang="en"><span class="hgKElc">that is, </span></span><span class="ILfuVd" lang="en"><span class="hgKElc"> giving and reading books on Christmas Eve, everyone cozy with warm throws and</span></span><span class="ILfuVd" lang="en"><span class="hgKElc"> </span></span><span class="ILfuVd" lang="en"><span class="hgKElc">slippers, a few hot drinks, perhaps a woodstove or fireplace, cranking it out. Oh yeah!<b><br /></b></span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLCllCxMnUfs_FsuXRY7YAIqlasIBFSW9J11Mioj_GgSz5jP9ORSVOl-HPpPUsE_QCkGrjrgJCkgKciMNiMcE5HHuBs4UDwTNPSM7rzebOMrURgFpd79SYtbD0-PHKDa08_7etmaW5bEm7AV3OYYn-h_YDGjfn-Wzbl6qbppdAOC6nSC3ta7YVZD-Hsw/s2016/Nest%20book%20page.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLCllCxMnUfs_FsuXRY7YAIqlasIBFSW9J11Mioj_GgSz5jP9ORSVOl-HPpPUsE_QCkGrjrgJCkgKciMNiMcE5HHuBs4UDwTNPSM7rzebOMrURgFpd79SYtbD0-PHKDa08_7etmaW5bEm7AV3OYYn-h_YDGjfn-Wzbl6qbppdAOC6nSC3ta7YVZD-Hsw/s320/Nest%20book%20page.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAlvxYDCdOvqDHvNhBnGV4EaF_iuYEgATsPwXwAi_eySExIdArHsELakp8j_4pBPwsUAxRqrduHUi3wKFmg_m4BDYl2b5AUo4sfc3_L15EctY5dpE6MSWcv1YPSTYUZHwenGfku9_kQtsd1nCzL44i7WAV3vI23lhYxMsWEDWr81jiRLsi01j7tbI2w/s2016/ravens%20book%20page.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAlvxYDCdOvqDHvNhBnGV4EaF_iuYEgATsPwXwAi_eySExIdArHsELakp8j_4pBPwsUAxRqrduHUi3wKFmg_m4BDYl2b5AUo4sfc3_L15EctY5dpE6MSWcv1YPSTYUZHwenGfku9_kQtsd1nCzL44i7WAV3vI23lhYxMsWEDWr81jiRLsi01j7tbI2w/s320/ravens%20book%20page.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p> It's a slim little book, with lovely illustrations by Shane Weare,
Professor Emeritus from SSU - the book is made by these illustrations. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Xen2Lx0xhPbwSEbI1JBbzGaS_6CYPEXWr5DqIyOvFdRBkCLJwWXoF9peCRYtKvrxKNprhckMT-uJ3LQOFnQ1fWMYPuqcfuDFYU7R33RwHMOITYDaWCSzum2wAFaP1biKYZS7f0hT13OjAjBKbnVDz3WhSvBhP8dUbiWh6dNmvXeC5M5x7iaWYQAjlQ/s4032/Lakin%20Bird%20SSU.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Xen2Lx0xhPbwSEbI1JBbzGaS_6CYPEXWr5DqIyOvFdRBkCLJwWXoF9peCRYtKvrxKNprhckMT-uJ3LQOFnQ1fWMYPuqcfuDFYU7R33RwHMOITYDaWCSzum2wAFaP1biKYZS7f0hT13OjAjBKbnVDz3WhSvBhP8dUbiWh6dNmvXeC5M5x7iaWYQAjlQ/s320/Lakin%20Bird%20SSU.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />Here I am, goofing off on campus, wings provided by an installation artist as their end-of-the-year project, sometime in the early aughts. <p></p><p>But -- also here's the Amazon link <a href="https://a.co/d/j02xgP2" rel="noreferrer" target="_blank">https://a.co/d/j02xgP2</a> , just in case. <br /></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-8401080549838822152022-12-01T17:59:00.000-08:002022-12-01T17:59:54.695-08:00The Bestiary is now live on Amazon!<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJMRk6DjXnGZyw4BCJ9jKdLew9qotKl58jgRzKGGmvYHpGzuULxys3rAgC3qI8pZo_zJ-oRXU15vSQT9K8MTDvDvTPMcrli-VaF3Tf6bB01AbNXiHXi-579LMSHOaoCA_6DaYow-03aRZU90DTXAbAYWw7Hcc_AJTj-6V4wAw7tm25O9co37Ipc5SvgA/s4032/3C35A720-0370-4FCA-A279-E3E83B3912A4.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJMRk6DjXnGZyw4BCJ9jKdLew9qotKl58jgRzKGGmvYHpGzuULxys3rAgC3qI8pZo_zJ-oRXU15vSQT9K8MTDvDvTPMcrli-VaF3Tf6bB01AbNXiHXi-579LMSHOaoCA_6DaYow-03aRZU90DTXAbAYWw7Hcc_AJTj-6V4wAw7tm25O9co37Ipc5SvgA/s320/3C35A720-0370-4FCA-A279-E3E83B3912A4.heic" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">( cover of the proof copy)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> ... and available to you all! Here's the link to the book on Amazon.....<br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href=" https://a.co/d/j02xgP2">Home Turf, a Bestiary of Sonoma State</a> </p><p>I'm pretty darn excited, I will say. What's a bestiary, you say? It's a compendium of beasts, a collection of tales about animals and what they mean to us. This book looks at the animals ( and a few other natural phenomenon) on the campus of Sonoma State University, up in the North Bay, in Northern California. </p><p> Medieval bestiaries were usually illustrated, sometimes with gold leaf. I was so fortunate to have artist and print master Shane Weare illustrate this book with exquisite drawings. He really made the book a bestiary. <br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDD2Sp__aK7XoD74BC4WcLgpmXXz5mDQIhj47mCiNPHvXvoB6tIgYGJoo9NtJSQHseVWw6cZDWTDRTVPckxcp76KZnAXg9eq4Jq3QuZSJFxRf-44oRI0cMLFj7U7MV1G1uQsQ6mk1v8QliPC-ZRLdT-i7Hi-Ls2lIQr6_FNaoO_Fv_wrZ6qh1MQ_15UQ/s2016/ravens%20book%20page.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDD2Sp__aK7XoD74BC4WcLgpmXXz5mDQIhj47mCiNPHvXvoB6tIgYGJoo9NtJSQHseVWw6cZDWTDRTVPckxcp76KZnAXg9eq4Jq3QuZSJFxRf-44oRI0cMLFj7U7MV1G1uQsQ6mk1v8QliPC-ZRLdT-i7Hi-Ls2lIQr6_FNaoO_Fv_wrZ6qh1MQ_15UQ/s320/ravens%20book%20page.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkLEg4WxftH3x99RFe1tZa9mUMfCjAN9qS9oXepi8Sz9KDdGqOqfc4V1xBMb34M3KEOV_TH0E5uwwm_mOBxkEtkd4DFboUE4Q3igH4x1-mNl4Ddz07kqHg1gm641EpildY17zQyDu0ZMpPqLR1CgXJmhU8xfMXijGy9_FaxbkzuipVl7kbaeig8Gj1Q/s2016/Nest%20book%20page.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkLEg4WxftH3x99RFe1tZa9mUMfCjAN9qS9oXepi8Sz9KDdGqOqfc4V1xBMb34M3KEOV_TH0E5uwwm_mOBxkEtkd4DFboUE4Q3igH4x1-mNl4Ddz07kqHg1gm641EpildY17zQyDu0ZMpPqLR1CgXJmhU8xfMXijGy9_FaxbkzuipVl7kbaeig8Gj1Q/s320/Nest%20book%20page.jpg" width="240" /></a></div></div><br />Feel free to share this link with any whom might be interested in a book that gently explores the varied animals finding a home on a suburban campus <br /><p><a href=" https://a.co/d/j02xgP2">Home Turf, a Bestiary of Sonoma State</a><br /></p><p> </p><p> https://a.co/d/j02xgP2</p><p> </p><p> </p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-27229271520616465622022-11-22T12:13:00.002-08:002022-11-23T16:33:12.074-08:00Whatever they say, we didn't .<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">No matter what they said, we didn’t. Nope, no way, Jose. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It
might have looked like we did.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> It was summer and you know, things get out of control in
summer. Those wild songs were playing. Santana. <i>You’ve got to change your
wicked ways, baby.</i> The </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">infectious </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">beat, you just had to dance, shimmy
the hips, chop the beat with your feet, sun pouring through the car windows, the radio blaring. We always turned it up, beat on the outside of the car doors,
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>bare arms through the open windows, tee-shirt
sleeves rolled up, hems tied tight around our midriffs,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or left loose over bathing suits. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We bumped over the rutted farm road, unmarked but well-known,
out to the swimming hole, along the west side of the Niagara River, parking in
the heat of the meadow, grasses already bent with seeds, or flattened by cars,
by cows, by us dancing over to the big rocks . We’d jump off into the deep dark
pool, an eddy of the main pull of the river, the one that could drag you over
the falls. Yes, those Falls. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A boombox turned up as high as it could go, we’d bump and
shout, we’d want to hold hands, we’d change our evil ways, plunging into the
cold, jumping<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to the bursts of the saxophones,
the wail of the guitar licks plugged straight into our brains, the cold swirling
water, the hot rocks, the <i>whir </i>of the grasshoppers, the rising song of the
cicadas measuring out the heat, the beat of the timbales, <i>Oye como ova,
mi ritmo</i>. We’d sashay, we’d prance, we’d shimmy and shake, we’d parade, do
silly jumps, dive down as far as we could. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The water was dark and cold, mysterious, a black magic of its
own. It set the table for all that happened later, all the things we didn’t do,
all the things it was assumed we did. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">(This is a small piece written to prompts from Jumpstart Writing Workshop, November, 2022. )<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <br /></span></p>
<p><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-28467028949262647222022-11-21T18:20:00.002-08:002022-11-21T18:20:11.284-08:00Almost Published! Home Turf!<p><i>Home Turf, A Bestiary of Sonoma State</i>, that little book I've been working on for years and years, is about to see the light of day! Here's the cover - and I'll be looking at the proof copy the day after Thanksgiving. Whoooieee mama! <br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcT9sVLMy0H56QFMWHZa6ac0NK_mGPhMqTAxOAR4GyjkkZVpSDSXU0djGtiZbnB2c3zWdVsqTgv1kuReH9smtDs28XnxN8rdw1tPfc4kQY_Dyla4uhgL7khoR21ErmByrabuNv3xSULiY3TQnu78wQtB9jGwJ_Cc6mc9NTBVv_wBieZi0mHYdcma5zWw/s4032/83749968-6CB3-40CB-A509-A1E74F62C5FB.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcT9sVLMy0H56QFMWHZa6ac0NK_mGPhMqTAxOAR4GyjkkZVpSDSXU0djGtiZbnB2c3zWdVsqTgv1kuReH9smtDs28XnxN8rdw1tPfc4kQY_Dyla4uhgL7khoR21ErmByrabuNv3xSULiY3TQnu78wQtB9jGwJ_Cc6mc9NTBVv_wBieZi0mHYdcma5zWw/s320/83749968-6CB3-40CB-A509-A1E74F62C5FB.heic" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-84253726582892909562022-10-07T13:27:00.003-07:002022-10-07T13:27:40.582-07:00The Wind Is Up - Sept 28, 2022<p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wind is up
tonight, rattling everyone’s cages. We have all been cranky the past few days,
un-nerved in some way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the air is
crackling and everything we say to each other is sparked with static and
misunderstandings. Like the slip of paper in the fortune cookie says, <i>We throw dirt at each
other</i>, <i>but<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it just means we are losing
ground.</i> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The cats are janky too; cross with each other and tussling
at a moment’s notice. Oscar, the grouchy one, the boss, the <i>patron</i>, the <i>don</i>, who stalks
around with the rolling gait of a sailor ready to prove his authority, is laid
up with an infection along his jaw. Antibiotics are pretty much saving him, but
he’s not 100 % yet, except for the grouchy part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sleeps a lot, but at least he’s eager for
his food now. I’d like to think that flattery would improve his mood, but he
isn’t having any of it. Kind of like the rest of the crew. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps we aren’t quite ready to give up on summer, as hot
and vicious as it was at times. We sense the enclosings of winter, the
cinching-up of the season, the tightening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This year, spider mites ate up most of the roses, ran amuck
among the tomatoes, challenged the baby oak tree. We discovered the magic of
neem oil, sprayed everything with a deep oily sheen, but the spiders attacks have delayed the
growth of plants, the blooming of flowers. The joys of the flowers, the blessings of the open sky and big
clouds seemed to be snatched from us – the way we snatch the tiny snakes from
the kittens, thwarting them of their fun and diversions. They look at us as if
we are just about too stupid to be their gods and stalk off, tails switching. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The wind is up and chafing at the tie-downs of the
umbrellas. The canopies ruffle and luff, ripple and snap under the gusts. We
are folding ourselves over the fence-edge of the equinox, crossing the stile,
to step into the soil of another season, and we’re not quite ready yet. </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-9162301959764448702022-09-21T10:36:00.006-07:002022-09-21T10:36:50.681-07:00A letter on behalf of The Queen<p class="MsoNormal">Dear Ms Goddess in Charge of the Meadow of Royals in Heaven;</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We implore you to accept our Best Friend with all the
dignity and grace that she brought to our four-legged world.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We ask that you remember her as we do – a light touch to our
head when we were confused or anxious, a long ramble in those grey-misted,
great green vales when we could no longer make sense of the swirl of the world,
when we needed to bury our noses in long swaths of grasses, drink long gullaps
from the cold streams, wavery with fish-fry and pollywogs. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We want to say that she was required to think about the Big
Issues and the Small Details all at once – that she had to preserve not only
the dignity of Her Office but help those who came to her to do the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She never missed a beat, even when she herself
was beat and tired and only wanted to saddle up and ride out and throw sticks,
but instead had to gather her pearls and special hat, make sure the correct emblems
were packed in those velvet bags and go out in a carriage or coach or special
car to greet the people, to help the world feel a little bit better, even in
the worst of times. You know as well as any of us that there were both worst
times and grand times.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In this way she was a True Leader, a person set forward to do
more than keep herself intact; she was obliged to keep everyone who looked at
her intact and whole too. In this, some days, of course, were better than
others. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But we, her best buddies, we knew her best and we send her
to you with our hearts aching, our furry necks yearning for her touch - but
knowing she will be the best you could ever wish for. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Emma, Fell Pony and Muick and Sandy, Corgis.</p>
<p><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-90387524071696311052022-09-01T11:53:00.002-07:002022-09-01T11:53:32.654-07:00It's been a minute....<p class="MsoNormal">I am so restless now; I can’t settle on much. We are
starting to snap back into some semblance of the un-affected life. But somehow we are almost more isolated, as our small little Covid-covens break up,
spinning into other streams of existence, work, school, exercise classes, leaving us between
worlds, between what used to be and what used to be before that. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What I mean is, those relationships formed by the necessity
of limited contact during Covid might not work so well as we get back into the flow of going
places and doing things, while many of our previous connections have been broken or stretched way too thin to hook up again. <br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am so restless and yet so stuck. Sitting on the tan sand yesterday afternoon,
the grit of beach invading the seams of the swimsuit -- a new one because after
two years of neglect, I can’t even find my old ones, which truth be told, probably
won’t even fit any more. This beach has a touch of heaven to it, a small cove at
the bottom of canyon eroded into the bluff, a canyon edged by tall pines and
Douglas fir, full of butterflies and the calls of juncos and bushtits,
chickadees, the echo of ravens. Over the narrow bay, the gulls<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>cry their funny, searing call, then strut
along the edge of the wavelets, little martinets commanding your chip-crumbs or the ragged core of your consumed pear by their mere presence of their upright
posture, their parade-ground bearing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The water – it is the water that makes the difference, that
creates the spell, the transmutation <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>–
cold, of course, but not so cold as to be impossible. The long narrow finger of
this bay marks the San Andreas fault as it rips into the crust of the planet;
it is a hinge, a meeting and a long leavetaking of plates, a matrix of
tectonics. Here we can feel the fold of our lives, how that past can flip up
and across the present like pleats. I may be in the kitchen, folding the batter
for blueberry muffins, but I am also on the side of the road, hitch-hiking to
Woodstock. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I run into the bay
water, the same fold of water that serves as a nursery for white sharks. I float,
looking up at the serrated edges of the sky, the tops of my world, but the
bushy bottoms for the raven, the osprey, the lone bald eagle. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>From writing prompts on Wednesday night, August 31, 2022 </i><br /></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-32670973174400480662021-11-03T14:33:00.000-07:002021-11-03T14:33:03.031-07:00what is up with you people?<p>The prompt from yesterday's workshop: Write about your morning routine from the point of view of your pet. And so, once again, Oscar observes how the world doesn't conform to his expectations. <br /></p><p> </p><p>This morning, Oscar, our bulky tabby, stretched out of his thick curl behind my knees and then climbed up my legs, arranging himself along the ridgeline of my body, pinning me in a kind of wrestlers move created by his weight and almost savage intent on getting breakfast and then outside. First he nuzzles and then he glares, restless, needing the Comptroller of the Cupboard, the Doorman of the Door to stir and attend to him. </p><p><i>Ahem</i> he seems to say, with every shift of his considerable bulk, <i>ahem</i>!. Why are you still abed, with the morning larks a-buzzing and the dawn gilding the slight horizon? What is this snoozing, when squirrels are beginning their taunting dance and I must attend and chase? Up up, lazy bones, get a move on! Okay, so maybe they aren’t larks, maybe they are finches and winter sparrows, but I must remind them who is the Boss of the Lawn! </p><p>And now why must you spend so much time in the water closet, that place of Growls and Gurgles? What gods are you appeasing before you stagger to the location of bitter smells, the Grinder of Beans and Clatter? What is up with you people? </p><p>I implore you and your thick legs, I rub them with my most endearing pheromones of pleasure and appeasement. I watch your every move; I trouble your legs with my double-cross leg-weaving to guide you to the Big White Doors that hold the most deliciousness of treats, the Salmon Pate, the Tuna Snackerals I so desire. <i>Like right now</i>! My mouth waters, I reach out to remind you with my Sharp Reminders which way to go, not toward the door to shoo me out, no no no, but across the kitchen to the Big White Doors. </p><p>Dang howdy, that was fast! Up by the scruff of my neck and now I am outside, in the damp, in the cold, no Tuna Snackerals, no Salmon Pate, just the graze of my Reminders in your salty, marbled flesh. </p><p>That was a mistake, yes, yes, but not something I can’t recover from. A well timed thud against the door should work. Thud! Um, no. There’s some anger behind that door, in those grumpy phrases. Okay, up on the ledge under the window, a few scritches on the screen. That always cheers you up, right? </p><p>Um, nope. Not sure why I deserved that howl, that slam of window. I switch my tail to indicate my displeasure with this whole process, but I’m beginning to worry that I might be served chum - outside, on a metal plate, with pickles, like a prisoner. </p><p>The wind is coming up, fluffing up the fur along my flanks. I offer my most piteous Meow of Apology. Now I need in, I want in, I’ll be patient, I swear. A splatter of rain drops, a fine mist floating across the grass, a heaviness in the dark thick air, a dampness, a pressure. Okay, okay, I’ll be good, I’ll behave, just let me in. </p><p>I raise my paw but don’t scratch, I squeeze and pulse my eyes, to become the greenest of greens, as I’ve heard you say. Open the door!!! Open the door!! Jiminey Crickets, where did this all go wrong? From a warm bed to the bitter cold sideyard in less time than it takes me to stalk a squirrel. Oh woe is me, oh woooooh meohhhhh is me!<br /></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-4090255372234493562021-10-27T16:55:00.001-07:002021-10-27T16:55:22.735-07:00Before the rains, she goes into the forest. <p>Wrote the following piece one evening last week on the cusp of the mega-rain last weekend, in response to these prompts and also memories of hiking up in Mendocino, at Russian Gulch State Campground:</p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li> “The forest is a place in which everything your heart desires and fears lives.” by Charles Simic, in the book <i>Dime-Store Alchemy: The Art of Joseph Cornell</i>, a quote I found on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CLnhtdxhwXj/">Peg Alford Purcell's Instagram</a>: . <br /></li><li>Arriving at the Church of Poetry.*<br /></li><li>She gave a sweet, slightly mocking, smile.*</li></ul><p>* Sources undocumented. Apologies. Will try to track the authors down for these two quotes. </p><p>* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * <br /></p><p>Arriving, she gave a sweet, slightly mocking smile. This, indeed, was
the church of poetry: this forest, which the heart desired, this
forest, where fear conspired. She walked into the cathedral of tree
trunks, dwarfed by the redwood spires that twisted slightly as they
rose; that smell, as pungent as cinnamon, that damp as close as a best
friend. The path was wide and spongey, bordered by ferns at times,
ferns as big as cows, as big as desire, as big as the space between
molecules, which when she thinks of it, is a big as it gets. <br /><br />She
sidestepped a big yellow banana slug, munching its way along the muddy
edge of the path and then was startled by the big eyes of a mottled
salamander, skin glistening as it turned and vanished under the soggy
edge of a log, the felled corpse of a redwood lying parallel to the
trail for a hundred feet or more. The horizontal trunk, blanketed by
green moss, was high enough to be a bench to sit on, wide enough to walk
along with out having to balance, simply placing one foot casually in front of the
other. <br /><br />She walked along the wide trunk, soft and crumpling a bit
underfoot, a highway to the inner courts, to that confluence of light
and mist, that tapestry that captures just what is molecule and what is
wave, where dissolving is not so much an act as a state of being.</p>
<p><br /></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-86690898286586191942021-10-13T15:27:00.002-07:002021-10-27T16:32:56.966-07:00Writing Prompt: “Well, you know, he was in a prison in Dubai”<p> These are the warm days, the warm side the hot side of the year. We have gone from keeping track of wooly cowls and warm shawls to searching out the gauzy, light fabrics. Crinkle cottons, wide-brimmed straw hats. We’re putting up the shade-sails, unfurling the umbrellas against the blast of the bold sun, rising higher and higher in the sky. <br /><br />The mockingbird pair bounce along the top of the fence, jabbering at the indolent, rotund tabby cat, who might have once in his younger years been a threat, but now is more intent on loafing his days away in sun or shade. He’s a real garden cat, lolling about under the stunted artichokes, sunning himself on the hot rocks. He watches a caterpillar inching down the slender trunk of the new pomegranate tree. Meanwhile, the mockingbirds, feeling he is too close to their nest in the wildly blooming pyracantha bush on the other side of the fence, take turns to dive at him, skimming his fur and causing no end of consternation from us witnesses. Nevertheless, Oscar, that thick-headed tabby cat, continues to loll and flaunt his considerable flanks, the lines and sworls of his sides like a map of a forgotten island in an atlas of abandoned lands. Where we all seem to be residing this spring.<br /><br />This is not a crowd of mockingbirds; nor are they repugnant, evil little dive-bombers. They simply refuse to believe in the serendipity of a fat cat in the garden enjoying the sun before it becomes intolerable even to this inveterate heat-seeker. They understand only that the shape of a predator is far too near their babies and they are determined in their strut and bluster and buzz-drills to drive him away. <br /><br />But you know, Oscar acts like he had once been in a prison in Dubai. Nothing excites him, nothing annoys him. He is on the bulky side now, as if making up for those lost meals from prison, which adds to his look of imperturbability, but there comes that moment when one of the mockingbird scores a more direct hit, grabs a twist of fur, yanks. Oscar snarls and hisses, then curls up to sitting, gives himself a lick, and waddles off, as if he intended all along at precisely 10:13 a.m to move around to the other side of the house. And so he does, tail tall and stately, like a flag of state. Not giving up exactly, but not sticking around, either. </p><p>* * * * * * * * * * * *</p><p>October 2021 </p><p>I found this post anguishing in my stack and thought I would publish it, seeing that it's from that other side of the summer, before the heat drove us half-mad and the drought drove us the rest of the way. ~ lk<br /><br /></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-73138524877391005572021-10-03T17:58:00.004-07:002021-10-03T18:09:37.173-07:00Maybe I Am Wrong<p>This October morning, redwing blackbirds swarm the backyard trees, absolutely loud with their raucous chatter, scratchy and scritchy, like a foreign language I almost understand, but don’t. But maybe I am wrong, maybe my body does understand — as I rouse and walk outside to refill the watering bowls, padding along the few soft, still-damp sections of the mostly brown and crispy lawn. </p><p>Squirrels bounce along the top of the brown wooden fence, taunting the taut and laser-focused yearling kittens hunkered down behind the wire grid of their catio, set across the lawn. One squirrel, an acorn gripped in its teeth, dances down the thin trunk of the young ceanothus leaning against the fence, skittering around in the dusty dirt under the mulberry tree, hopping straight toward the kittens. The two kittens sit hunched side by side, frozen in their desire to capture this tail-snapping, sassy-ass squirrel. </p><p>Maybe I am wrong, but it seems like the flippant creature hops closer and closer, throwing a knowing glance or three at the kittens trapped behind wire, and digs in the duff and old wood chips conspicuously within leaping distance. The kittens stare and swivel their heads in exact unison, like two heads on one cat neck, conjoined in their focused desire, side by side, just behind the wires.</p><p> Today, I wake up with ideas, with a plan. Time to get my book out of the laptop and into the real world. I can't keep it trapped within wires any longer. </p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-30527480753595761462021-05-08T19:32:00.001-07:002021-05-08T19:32:02.790-07:00<p>.... apologies for the slump in activity. I think I fell into some kind of mental ditch this winter. Or hibernation. Or coccoon. Or just general languishment. <br /></p><br /><p><br /></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-5001374295152787442020-11-02T16:12:00.006-08:002020-11-02T16:12:29.843-08:00Sept 14 2020 - Monday - a note from the near past.<p>There is the grinding down, as we circle through the whirlpool, </p><p>before we are spit out into a new world. I feel stretched and thinned out. Effaced.</p><p>We are working on the new world. We are birthing it<br /></p><p>together. </p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> <br /></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-40268387254226400212020-11-02T14:27:00.003-08:002020-11-02T16:07:58.642-08:00November 2 2020 - the Day Before <p> ...not that we will get much closure about the election on Nov 3rd. But ...well, it's all we can think about. Will the Deposed Maniac try to claim victory and hold onto the presidency if he's ahead Tuesday evening -- and then try to end the ballot count? Then I will take to the streets, because all votes must be counted. Besides, races aren't always called on Election Day -- that's a convention brought about by media and the ability to predict an outcome. Back in the day, it would take weeks to tally the vote and get the results to the Electoral College. We will<a href="https://protecttheresults.com/" target="_blank"> Protect The Results. </a>Absolutely.</p><p> </p><p style="text-align: left;">We are restless, hearts thrumming</p><p style="text-align: left;">like the hummers</p><p style="text-align: left;">roaring in and out of the purple sage. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p>We are haunted by 2016 - when we felt the time was right, that we were in the sweet spot to have a woman president to continue a more just society. Now we are grimly hanging onto our hearts, crossing our fingers, gnawing our nails, working to propel a woman Veep. These four years have changed us - all of us, We are a different nation, in many ways, with a new respect for health, for justice, for a government that works for the common good. <br /></p><p>Today, I watch a patch of pelicans, brilliantly white with black wing tips, wheel across the sky, determined and steady. That is us, the Determined Ones. We're not extremists, seeking to bash heads or run candidates off the roads, using intimidation, bullying, falsehoods and lies to secure the election because we can't run on our record, because we have nothing to offer the country but more chaos and ineptitude. We use steady inexorable persistence to make headway against injustice, writing batch after batch of postcards, 10 or 20 at a time, to remind voters of the power of the vote, of their voice. </p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://protectthevote.net/"> Protect The Vote </a></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-60815620968835465392020-10-02T16:53:00.028-07:002020-10-02T17:11:56.341-07:00Sept 13 2020 - Saturday. <p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://cdn.substack.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fbucketeer-e05bbc84-baa3-437e-9518-adb32be77984.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F8768fe1f-ae3c-4a8c-b36a-f5ba9ba56f43_828x621.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://cdn.substack.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fbucketeer-e05bbc84-baa3-437e-9518-adb32be77984.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F8768fe1f-ae3c-4a8c-b36a-f5ba9ba56f43_828x621.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture by Buddy Poland from Heather Cox Richardson's post Sept 13 2020<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Taking a cue from Heather Cox Richardson today, from - because I'm exhausted just thinking about all the levels of chaos going on. And HCR stated it all so well in her post from today, which I quote in it's entirety. :<br /></p><p>"Lots of people are tired right now. Indeed, the whole point of the
constant stream of chaos coming from the administration is to exhaust us
to the point we will stop caring what Trump and his supporters do. </p><p>But
have you noticed that reporters are increasingly calling out the
administration's lies, and people are increasingly articulating what
they want the world to look like, rather than what we are currently
enduring? Famously, "in the midst of chaos there is also opportunity."</p><p>Here's a little inspiration for those of you for whom the chaos is
obscuring the opportunity: Wilhelmina Smith of the highly-regarded Salt
Bay Chamberfest, a small non-profit performing arts organization in
Maine, playing her cello-- somewhat unexpectedly-- in the light of a
late-summer afternoon. <br /></p><p>https://heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/p/september-13-2020</p><p><a href="https://heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/p/september-13-2020">Taking A Mental Health Break</a></p><p>This in the midst of the horrendous fires in Ashland, Oregon and Butte County, California - (again) <br /></p><p></p><p><a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/sep/12/oregon-fires-wildfires-california-washington">Fires, fires, fires.</a></p><p> But we soldier on, right?<br /></p><p><i><br /></i></p><br /><p><br /></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-4929310409064197532020-09-22T22:20:00.004-07:002020-10-02T16:44:56.406-07:00Sept 12, 2020 - Saturday NapDay<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2C9uxGPdoCnK2Selku065sFQT0dSoZBjTkP_0vNX6JKrdt_cD_W5uX4tg5my7zl-gvyFKIwJinI33WJh8fTjcnZYAeyK_Lp76o9WcftGdrh2Zo9wR1b__OrIRQBSu7jOUDFr5pqovCAv/s1878/Sept13.2020.KittensNap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1878" data-original-width="1864" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2C9uxGPdoCnK2Selku065sFQT0dSoZBjTkP_0vNX6JKrdt_cD_W5uX4tg5my7zl-gvyFKIwJinI33WJh8fTjcnZYAeyK_Lp76o9WcftGdrh2Zo9wR1b__OrIRQBSu7jOUDFr5pqovCAv/w398-h400/Sept13.2020.KittensNap.JPG" width="398" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">the wild abandonment of kittens to the power of a nap</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-74273714121259773912020-09-19T18:59:00.002-07:002020-09-22T23:03:11.320-07:00Tuesday, Sept 8, 2020- Smoke and Fires, No Mirror Needed<p>(apologies for lack of continuity here)</p><p>Overwhelmed by the sadness of the smoke and fires. </p><p>22 days of Spare The Air alerts doesn't even begin to describe the constant presence of smoke and fire. It's like a deep winter season in a way, when snow and ice kept us housebound and indoors, only this is excessive heat and too much smoke. Exercise becomes an indoor activity: yoga or tai chi on a good day. </p><p>For others, the fires force them to flee, leave everything behind, stare into an uncertain future. <br /></p><p>Woke today to an oppressively oily-yellow light, the sun a weak red disk behind a high screen of smoke from a fire somewhere else, perhaps the Wallbridge Fire flare-up that sparked evacuation orders again around Guerneville and Armstrong Woods State Park. Thick blankets of smoke, reminding us that fire has destroyed homes and lives and livelihoods elsewhere. I hear now that this smoke is from fires in Mendocino. There are or have been fires, I think, in every county in the North Bay, this past month. And now the Sierras are erupting in fire, with courageous helicopter rescues of flame-trapped hikers and firefighters and citizens of all stripes and ilk. <br /></p><p>A visit to the National Weather Service Twitter page has me saddened beyond relief -- satellite views of the sea of smoke settling into the inland valleys. Insane waves created by the heat and wind. Historic wooden train trestle in Yakima, Washington a gridwork of flames. And Southern California not one whit better. <br /></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-38249835411856998482020-09-17T16:34:00.002-07:002020-09-17T16:34:12.170-07:00Friday Sept 11 2020<p><a href="https://heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/p/september-11-2020"> Heather Cox Richardson - Sept 11, 2020</a>. </p><p>Yes. <br /></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-45465914540684458062020-09-17T16:22:00.004-07:002020-09-17T16:28:48.526-07:00Thursday Sept 10 2020 - Darkness Breaks at Noon<p><br /> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0YaiNd0qsWkSEIhwSc4cFqn4aWM9ak6uV9txPkiqkhOy8lalO6qWtiEc5wprrXO6Jg-gu_iPOtgVzO74LT6xbYcyhjwwmIwoqFYxH2AOJKKY-Y2HjequEj5GO1GJdU82w-uVeKxaAa9_P/s2048/IMG_0032+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0YaiNd0qsWkSEIhwSc4cFqn4aWM9ak6uV9txPkiqkhOy8lalO6qWtiEc5wprrXO6Jg-gu_iPOtgVzO74LT6xbYcyhjwwmIwoqFYxH2AOJKKY-Y2HjequEj5GO1GJdU82w-uVeKxaAa9_P/s320/IMG_0032+2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisepoxoRS68Oh5AgWIeMxTmkLbGDsWNGN32Cb0KKL9ndDFShKKIvClxE8u38mKZKeh2RENmiZqyqS1wBFpxCXDq0rq7s2jNQyRZV3mruHEkuWwdDc77_F0WuuhcAxwTPaOeZ0JTvM2Vzt9/s2048/IMG_0016.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisepoxoRS68Oh5AgWIeMxTmkLbGDsWNGN32Cb0KKL9ndDFShKKIvClxE8u38mKZKeh2RENmiZqyqS1wBFpxCXDq0rq7s2jNQyRZV3mruHEkuWwdDc77_F0WuuhcAxwTPaOeZ0JTvM2Vzt9/s320/IMG_0016.jpg" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheMKg_HKtsETiejFWmravqw7lwDmwT1amgnW3j8sSfZeTtdI_G44Md3JMbdp_mfwr9wmhSDMn6v64h_3jT8_8FMgR4fwq4gOItipeErUbG-BQf6udztZ5ZJFb8YZkTow0Kvl6qYKulSsw8/s2048/IMG_0034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheMKg_HKtsETiejFWmravqw7lwDmwT1amgnW3j8sSfZeTtdI_G44Md3JMbdp_mfwr9wmhSDMn6v64h_3jT8_8FMgR4fwq4gOItipeErUbG-BQf6udztZ5ZJFb8YZkTow0Kvl6qYKulSsw8/s320/IMG_0034.jpg" /></a></div></div><br /><p></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-75855479091009633012020-09-15T20:27:00.001-07:002020-09-17T16:20:44.250-07:00Wednesday Sept 9 2020 - Drawing Cricles, Under Tangerine Skies<p>Drawing Circles - many of them, 170,000 of them, in fact, to try to understand what a number that big actually is. Calming, but with intent. There's a beauty in both the practice and the result, if drawn with focus and purpose. In John Green's podcast, T<i>he Anthropocene Reviewed</i>, <a href="https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/anthropocene-reviewed/episodes/anthropocene-reviewed-works-art-agnes-martin-and-hiroyuki-doi">Episode # 24 </a>he reviews <a href="https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/anthropocene-reviewed/episodes/anthropocene-reviewed-works-art-agnes-martin-and-hiroyuki-doi">The Works of Art of Agnes Martin and Hiroyuki Doi</a> - she of the color fields and geometric grids and he of the many many circles. And then this response, which loops into the act of drawing, an attempt to understand the magnitude of a number like 170,000 -- which by now has reached 180,000 and for sure, will eclipse 200,000. That is, the number of folks in the US who have died from this pandemic. Each circle is a life, encircled by family, friends, work, projects, art. <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><a href="https://youtu.be/ILMEVnVD8m8" target="_blank"></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://youtu.be/ILMEVnVD8m8" target="_blank"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ILMEVnVD8m8" width="320" youtube-src-id="ILMEVnVD8m8"></iframe></a></div><p><a href="https://youtu.be/ILMEVnVD8m8" target="_blank"><br />John Green </a></p><p><br /></p><p>Woke to weird tangerine skies, a thick layer of smoke held in place by fog above it and no wind to speak of. Not so hot today, but oppressive in spirit. Small flecks of grey-white ash drift down to sprinkle the tomato plants, coat the tables, obscure the views of hillsides and mountain. Thick enough on the cars to write "VOTE" on them, leaving fingertips black. </p><p>Meanwhile, others are fleeing their burning houses. </p><p></p><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVTgiBjQYk8jaeJ2zJ7321qxERcTApjN_rPRzL8SJvv3aeFF7HVNYMBnv25n1omDVA_HR5utSn7Mck4-oeFm8ZOe1O0MogF_9ybTIXm97EFYzz-tU8jGhvT788dEFiI3Z5s99hhaSbufA4/s2048/sept+9+2020+orange+sky.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVTgiBjQYk8jaeJ2zJ7321qxERcTApjN_rPRzL8SJvv3aeFF7HVNYMBnv25n1omDVA_HR5utSn7Mck4-oeFm8ZOe1O0MogF_9ybTIXm97EFYzz-tU8jGhvT788dEFiI3Z5s99hhaSbufA4/w400-h400/sept+9+2020+orange+sky.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2SRdJTkiP-wwYOohfV0j4LRnDnlEmJsk5NPhRYSCzkdE_n7UowqlWNeA1KlM54ze31bAa2UhLZidfaK6r4ZkyFsyn17gz04t04EtXobY5iZryT3IBns_IftTgBOJOv6GkttsEfKmEK0FP/s2048/IMG_9963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2SRdJTkiP-wwYOohfV0j4LRnDnlEmJsk5NPhRYSCzkdE_n7UowqlWNeA1KlM54ze31bAa2UhLZidfaK6r4ZkyFsyn17gz04t04EtXobY5iZryT3IBns_IftTgBOJOv6GkttsEfKmEK0FP/s320/IMG_9963.jpg" /></a></div><p></p>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6039028062902580010.post-86221240555725556362020-09-15T18:48:00.001-07:002020-09-15T18:48:05.117-07:00Tuesday, Sept 8, 2020 - Red Sun at Eleven A.M<p>...in which we begin to use AQI to define the day. <br /></p><p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfMpau7yy4Qfa_wF_kjBK76cokN9L2RKtQo-JXakikyYoZrcHJfOhDtVIZPzg0-Bihx49ZmJecd5VWsubhenQ4sEugwyt9bNjiGbae7Op_rhEHicpHxaFy5rJEZ5viUtiV3qnCNHk8VOg/s2048/Sept+8+Tues.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfMpau7yy4Qfa_wF_kjBK76cokN9L2RKtQo-JXakikyYoZrcHJfOhDtVIZPzg0-Bihx49ZmJecd5VWsubhenQ4sEugwyt9bNjiGbae7Op_rhEHicpHxaFy5rJEZ5viUtiV3qnCNHk8VOg/s320/Sept+8+Tues.JPG" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwxkhlWpNxFTuzNtdjxEQZpWVWHNj4qnu1lCTK4IfDFSQAAMvN5mYLZLluNfhKzkPdE8mZ6S0b3X4G3olwSnmHhYhkRn0Ar_-9VjXyceMzFU_MfomD9GHczOSu_kK3YH0WHQSwxX6U8aSU/s2048/Sept+8+Tues.Sierra+Fire+ExplodsJPG.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwxkhlWpNxFTuzNtdjxEQZpWVWHNj4qnu1lCTK4IfDFSQAAMvN5mYLZLluNfhKzkPdE8mZ6S0b3X4G3olwSnmHhYhkRn0Ar_-9VjXyceMzFU_MfomD9GHczOSu_kK3YH0WHQSwxX6U8aSU/w300-h400/Sept+8+Tues.Sierra+Fire+ExplodsJPG.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Lakinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17352161227918492499noreply@blogger.com0